


that still smells of sugar

by ZombieKisses



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Hänsel und Gretel | Hansel and Gretel (Fairy Tale)
Genre: Curses, Future Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 00:39:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5687881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZombieKisses/pseuds/ZombieKisses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Many years later, the witch still has a hold on Hansel and Gretel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	that still smells of sugar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gelsey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gelsey/gifts).



They go back sometimes, when the air blows too sweet and the memories rise like the foam in the beer he drinks too often. Neither of them want to go. Neither of them have a choice.

He and Gretel never talk about these trips, never say a word as they step into the embrace of spindly trees and walk, walk, walk, making their way through woods that had once seemed vast but now feel more like home than home. They know these woods, know the sounds of the birds, the cadence of the crunch of leaves and twigs beneath their boots, the curves of crooked branches beckoning like gnarled fingers, urging them on, on, onward, to a tiny clearing that still smells of sugar and witch.

Oh, the house is gone now. They'd watched it fall apart, watched animals take it away piece by delectable piece, watched it rot after the creatures of the forest had glutted themselves on candy and cake. The oven still stands, though, as stern and menacing as ever, still burning with the churning fires of Hell that once consumed children and the witch. The fire won't stop, can't stop—Hansel knows that, though he's not sure how. It is truth, a truth he feels deep in his bones, his breast, his belly. The fire will burn, burn, burn until its dark work is done. Until then, nothing goes near it.

Nothing but Gretel.

Each time they come, she steps closer, hands outstretched, palms facing the oven, compelled by something she claims not to understand. Each time, he tries to grab her. Each time, she slips through his arms like smoke.

She's not Gretel in those moments, not when her eyes go dark as coal and her breathing stops and she heads for the fire. If not for the sounds of her footsteps, he'd swear she floats toward the oven. He calls her name, and tastes burnt sugar and blood on his tongue. His heart pounds harder with her every step, rapid and painful beatbeatbeat hammers against the locked cage of his ribs, fights to burst free, beatbeatbeats 'til he can't breathe or see, 'til he falls to his knees, clutching his chest and gasping for smoke-filled air that smells so much like candy it makes him sick. Beat, beat, beat, between beats he chokes out her name, begging her to stop moving, to snap out of the fugue, to come back to the world, back to him.

And Gretel stops. A slow, wicked smile creeps across her face. It isn't her smile. The air crackles. Her skin glows orange in the light of the fire, or maybe she is the fire, flickering and terrible. Maybe her blonde hair is billowing like smoke because it is smoke, maybe her eyes turn red like embers because they are embers. None of it makes sense. It never does.

Hansel tries to stand, and he fails, falls on his stomach with a gut-crushing thud. As he fights to breathe, Gretel burns brighter, her skin shifting shades with the waves of the flames. She's lit from within, and she's blinding. He shields his eyes, and hears her take another step, then another, and another.

A laugh echoes through the forest. Then, nothing.

* * *

He and Gretel never talk about their trips, never say a word as they step out of the embrace of spindly trees and move far, far away from the woods. This time is different.

"Do you ever wonder why we go out there?" Gretel asks, voice raw and raspy, hollow and weak. "I think she has some kind of hold on me. On us. I think she wants to drag us down to Hell with her."

 _I think so, too_ , he doesn't say. Instead, he pulls his sister close, lets her bury her face against his chest as she sobs. "I won't let that happen," he says. "We've saved each other from her before. We'll save each other again. Understand?"

She nods, but her quiet, "Yes," is unconvincing. Hansel doesn't believe himself, either. No one understands witchcraft but witches. No one without magic can break a curse. What is there for them to do?

Except...

"Maybe it's time for us to move to America," he says. "I've heard it's wonderful. Perhaps we shall be safe there." Surely the witch's influence cannot follow them across an ocean.

Surely not.


End file.
